Ariadne and the Machine
by twowritehands
Summary: She let him put his lips anywhere he wanted, mouth tender and eager. The journey of A/A from co-workers to friends to more. Inspired by some songs on the Florence and the Machine album Lungs. Not a song fic.


**A/N: this is inspired by the album Lungs by Florence and the Machine. The headings are the song titles :)**

…**..**

Helping Professor Miles' son-in-law was supposed to be a summer thing, an unofficial way to gain experience. She was supposed to build impossible worlds, teach them to some criminals, and then be on her way. But she got emotionally attached to them, the criminals, to each and every one of them.

Dom: broken and tragic, wise beyond his years and kind.

Yusuf: quiet and sweet and thoughtful.

Eames: devilishly good looking and playful, overly flirty and funny.

Arthur.

Oh, where did one start with Arthur? The obvious was that he was handsome and mysterious. The less obvious was that he was dangerous. The secret was that he was the best of them all.

He truly was the stick-in-the-mud that Eames proclaimed him to be—was far too prone to seriousness—but he did have a sense of humor under that sobriety. She found it was subtle, surprisingly innocent in nature, and on the rare occasion when he laughed, dimples showed up and made him look significantly younger than his thirty years.

Oh, but there was so much more to him than that. He was skeptical, another way of saying slow to trust, but when his trust was earned it never wavered. He was appreciative of genius and beauty around him. He noticed everything, and never forgot the important things. He was not one to hold a grudge or to stress over things that he could not change. His general mellowness soothed her as effectively as his gentle touches excited her.

What was supposed to be a summer job became a way of life and it was all Arthur's fault.

He made everything change.

**The Drumming Song**

It couldn't be normal, couldn't be healthy. Every time he was near, her heart came alive, slamming into her chest, pounding so loudly she could hear it in her ears and it drowned out everything. It got worse the closer he came to her, pounding so fast and hard she actually felt light headed if he ever got in arms reach.

At that proximity, he was literally exciting her into nearly fainting. This stuff didn't happen in real life. People didn't actually do this to each other. So why was it happening to her? Was she really _that_ susceptible to dimples and dark eyes shining?

It electrified her, waking up of a morning, getting ready to go to the workshop and knowing that she would see him. He would breeze in wearing that long coat over his suit (or a sweater vest and khakis if he wasn't feeling meticulous) and his messenger bag would be crossing his chest and he'd be lost deep in thought, eyebrows low and mouth in a straight line, but when he saw her, his whole face would change and he'd smile, "Morning," he'd say lowly, almost a grunt.

Cue losing her breath and smiling back with an equally insufficient, "Morning,"

Sometimes she thought she'd say more, but she never did. Less is more, anyway. But why was she so eager to make him see her, to make him laugh, to impress him? Because she was eager to see him, because he made her laugh, because he impressed her, she just wanted to return the favors.

She would finish a model of the new hotel design and hesitate before calling him over to look at it. (What would he say about it? What if he didn't like it?) Since when did so much depend on him? It wasn't fair, oh, but she wouldn't trade it in for anything when he would lift dark eyes from her work and smirk at her, a praising nod that was just a jut of his chin, "You're usual good work," he'd say and turning to go, giving her a wink.

It was more than he ever said about Yusuf's compounds and was nicer than his condescending comments on the elaborate con Eames was weaving for the job. And he never winked at anyone but her.

A flick of one eyelid brought that roaring in her ears and thumping in her chest like nothing else. Whether he intended to make her feel special by doing it or not, he did, and her heart thrashed around for it, begging for more.

**The Dog Days Are Over**

She fell fast and hard, never really had a chance. With him came all of the love she had ever longed for, but being young, she was not exactly ready for it. Feelings like this meant everything had to change; the glory of love was that it reinvented everything it touched. But how could anyone be ready for so much change?

Love could care less that she didn't want to let go of the life she'd made for herself. Love didn't care that there was a way she had always juggled her time between friends and family and study and that anything beyond casual dating would only mess it all up. Love didn't care what she wanted, because it was what she needed and it didn't matter if she was ready for it or not because there it was.

Love came for her in the shape and smell and sound of Arthur, and running from it was useless; she was tied to the tracks and he was the train. One little kiss in the dreamscape (his lips catching and tugging on hers, his tongue lightly flicking her bottom lip) was a bullet between the eyes, killing who she was.

"It was worth a shot," He smirked, dark eyes sliding over to her, a slight jerk of his head, "Let's go."

Everything changed and life became a promise: the bland old days were over.

**I'm Not Calling You a Liar**

When the job was over, the team was in LA. Arthur happened to live there. Since there was no need for her to rush back to Paris, (it was too late in the new semester to go back to school) she got a place. Arthur helped her pick it out, furnish it.

He stood up out of the floor, where he'd been sorting through wires, hooking up her TV. His jacket was tossed over a kitchen chair, his cuffs undone and his sleeves rolled up. (Cords in his forearms had flexed enticingly as he carried the heavy set in for her.) Brushing imaginary dirt from his trousers, he checked the time and grinned over at her, dimples showing, "Just in time for our dinner reservations."

"You made reservations?" she asked. Aside from that kiss in the dream, which they hadn't spoken of yet, there had so far been nothing but the usual friendship between them.

"Get dressed," he said with a jut of his chin toward her bedroom, and dimples. When she stepped out in a red dress, pearls, and strappy heels, his dark eyes lifted from the shoes to the styled hair and then met her eye with a too-familiar smirk, "Perfect."

With the job over, she found _she_ was suddenly the thing Arthur focused on. Being his center of attention was exhilarating. He was intense but tender. He was doting but reserved. There was so much to do and say to each other, so much to learn and love about each other. Ariadne often felt like she was drowning, sighs of content the only way she could breathe.

He consumed her, absolutely, and she still wanted more.

Thoughts of him plagued her at night until the only thing left to do was finally let him take her back to his place. She was in over her head, had never moved so fast with someone, gone so far, but he mattered so much—she _loved him_ so much—that she let him loop his arms around her, draw her down the hallway of his apartment, toward his bedroom.

She let him put his lips anywhere he wanted, mouth tender and eager. She let him remove her clothes, touches so sensual and lingering. He'd been haunting her for too long now and she surrendered to him, let him carry her through this last transformation from girl to woman. She let him kill who she was and make her brand new, a lover—_his_ lover—half of a whole.

**Howl**

He was thoughtful and patient and afterward he held her. He didn't have to, but he did. This surprised her. She wasn't sure why. Perhaps she had been expecting a certain behavior out of him, a man who lied and cheated and stole for a living, who was handsome and athletic and capable of anything. She thought he would be casual about it, not totally aloof but not particularly affectionate, either.

But here he was, wrapped up in her, purring sweet things that made her laugh and combing blunt nails over her scalp, and not at all in hurry to be anywhere or even to move half an inch away from her on the mattress. One more time—she was getting the hang of this—and then sleep, curled up against him with his breath in her hair and his feet keeping hers warm.

After that she couldn't get enough. He was so tender - she wanted that tenderness. She would come to crave it like an addict craving a fix. What had started as a sweet spell had morphed into a powerful curse. He had haunted her before, now it was like he possessed her. He had power over her the way the moon ruled the sea and forced werewolves into madness, pushing, pulling, changing. He drove her wild. He unleashed something in her, the primal animal inside that _wanted_ and _took_. She wanted him, his tenderness, his body, his everything, so she took him.

**Cosmic Love**

The sun was setting over the ocean and they stopped to watch it. She held the railing and he held her. She could feel his heart beating against her back, the steady rhythm of peace. She closed her eyes and knew she was in trouble. She was scared, no idea what could happen now, what she would do if she ever had to go back, back to life without him.

He blinded her. That was what he did. He made it impossible for her to consider anything, anyone, or any_where_ else. If clear reasoning was light, she was living in a kind of darkness, all forms of light blocked entirely by him, his presence: so serious as he fixed the coffee maker, casual as he reached for her hand, playful as he teased her for burning the lamb, coy as he tossed a copy of his apartment key at her from across the room with a wink, silent as he sat beside her on the couch reading the paper while she sketched.

There was one thought that terrified her, a creeping doubt, that this was one sided. Yeah, he was affectionate, even doting when he was after something, but Arthur never did anything without doing it right. Perhaps this was just the way he was with women. In fact, she was certain it was. (He had a specific way he did everything, why not this?) So what if he was just having fun? What if it wasn't so serious for him as it was for her?

They never talked about it, never said it. What if the way she felt was only the way _she_ felt. Everything was new and exciting and she couldn't be sure what love was, but in every single definition she had of it so far, she loved him. What if he didn't love her back?

Her self-preservation instincts urged her to get out now, while she still could, before it was too late to pick up the life she'd abandoned in Paris… A new semester was starting, if she went now this would all be but a glorious summer memory to cherish. It would hurt at first, but she was strong enough to survive.

She was working up the nerve to do it when, as she brushed her teeth, his arm shot out of the shower curtain and pulled her into the shower with him.

She shrieked as the water soaked through her tank top and shorts. He wiggled his eyebrows as he pressed her to the shower wall with his bare and soaked body. He knew just how to call that animal inside of her out for some fun. Almost of their own accord, her knees hooked over his hips as he tasted the mint toothpaste in her mouth.

The shower water was hot, but her skin rose under his touch like his fingers were a chill. She stripped away the sodden tank top, nothing underneath. His moan vibrated down through her and then her shorts joined the shirt down next to the drain.

She was thankful for the spray of the shower hitting her face, hiding her tears. The thought of leaving him was impossible now, being with him like this, as he had her, filled her, completed her with motion and friction and pleasure. He had to love her. He _had_ to. Warm salty water stung in her eyes, and she did her best to swallow her sobs. But one too many hiccups and shaking breaths tipped him off.

He didn't ask questions, cut off the water, supped up the moisture from her face, and let her hold onto him like a koala bear. Burying his face in her neck, he murmured against her skin, "Guess what?"

"Hm?" was all she could manage.

"I've been offered work," he said lifting his face to meet her eye with a little smile. "They need an architect; I told them I know someone who might be interested." She bit her lip to hide the tremble, and he smoothed a thumb over it, "What do you say?"

Nodding, she breathed, "Yeah,"

"Yeah?" he asked, looking so relieved and thrilled that Ariadne's stomach dropped. She knew just then that she wasn't going anywhere without him. She was staying with him. For as long as he'd have her.

What started as a single job, became a series of jobs, nothing as elaborate as Inception but they paid well and she got to build dreamscapes again. So she didn't go back to school, though she did eventually go back to Europe—with Arthur.

**Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up)**

Her education was not the only thing she sacrificed to be with him.

She couldn't tell her friends and family the truth anymore, had to make up stories about why she was in LA and then Greece and then Germany and then Hungary. She couldn't tell them about Arthur, though they were clever enough to guess that a boyfriend was involved. They wanted to know about him, she had to make things up.

She became a liar and thief for him, for his dimples and his whispers, for his touches and his confessions. Together in a train bed, as his heartbeat at her back was lost in the motion of the train's racing journey down the tracks, he stroked her hair from her ear, spoke softly, "Ari, I... I've never loved anything as much as I love you."

He made her feel shiny and new, and precious…

After a year, she knew the differences between his many guns and she knew how to use them. She was experienced in the business, beginning to work with people who knew less about shared-dreaming and cons than she did. She had been all over the world with Arthur, had a price on her head, had nearly been killed once- in real life. She had accumulated millions in her shares from the work and had not spoken to her parents in four months.

Her coffee was strong. Good. The flight here had been _long_. The morning air was filled with the scent of some kind of flower growing up the side of the building. Ariadne breathed it in, practiced her Spanish on the breath out. It came out all wrong, her mouth still too accustomed to the German she'd been speaking for weeks. Inside the balcony doors behind her, she could hear Arthur unpacking while on the phone. He promised their newest employer they'd meet for lunch. Ariadne groaned. She just wanted to curl up in bed.

Though it was thrilling and full of beauty, seeing other cultures and climates around the world, the lifestyle was tiring. Not for the first time, she wanted to go back to Paris; she had loved it there, but she didn't want to leave Arthur; she loved him more. She finished her coffee and had a shower. Arthur stooped and kissed her nose as he passed her to take a shower next.

To stay in nose-kiss range of him, she gave up ideas of a settled life in Paris.

The glamour of being his special someone faded with time. When he was working, the job was his focus and it was like she became second. She knew without a doubt that if it came to it, he'd sacrifice the job—anything—for her but that was talking extremes. The fact was this was how he made his living. There was nothing for him in a settled life. He had to do this, drift around the world one-step ahead of the authorities, because he had nothing but a prison cell waiting for him if he didn't.

She was on the fast track to having so few options as well, but he didn't want her to leave him, held her every night, kept her safe at every moment. He loved her dearly, that much was in his eyes of a morning, his caresses at night. How could she ever leave that?

She spent two more years with Arthur as the centerpiece—the king—of her life, two years of him filling up her senses as they slipped away across the globe together. (Shared train beds, hot showers, fleeing hotels rooms half dressed, leaping from the roof of one building to the next, missing a train in the rain and laughing about it until they were kissing in a thunderstorm.) It was freeing in the way that only love could be but also dizzying. Sometimes she felt apart from the world, like it was going on without her.

In her darkest moments, often late at night, she wondered if she'd made the right choice when she chose to give up her life for his. He was her only real friend. She could no longer really talk to her mother. She was losing her dreams at night.

Sure, she was getting older, wiser, richer, but she didn't seem to be going anywhere but headfirst into a life of constantly avoiding prison. Scenery changed, payments doubled, but the work was essentially the same. The threats were always the same: pain, prison, death…

She was there for Arthur, doing it all for him. He was steadfast, never giving her a moment to doubt him. His love was a gift and everything else was just the price of it. He was everything to her, her knight in shining armor who rescued her from a miserable life… So should she not be willing to sacrifice everything to be with him?

But if she gave any more, there would be nothing else, she'd have given all of herself up like some kind of poor little lamb on an old testament chopping block. There would be nothing left…and what if it wasn't enough?

He occasionally sensed in her that something was wrong, but she could not tell him; it would hurt him. It would cause a fight and words that would hurt them both, perhaps irreparably. Keeping how she felt from him was a disservice, but she couldn't find the courage to tell the truth.

She was too kind in nature that was her problem. She could never intentionally hurt someone—only their projections and only then if they were trying to hurt her first. Most of the time, she honestly didn't have an answer for why she could not spend the rest of her life living like this with Arthur, because most of the time, it was all she wanted.

But sometimes, she dwelt on thoughts of a settled life in Paris, no more danger, a wedding, babies… Arthur would have the most precious sons… She didn't want these things, not really, but he never asked her if she did. He never really asked her anything. In fact, he often treated her like his possession—his most beloved item. He loved her, but sometimes it was like he didn't care if she loved him back, didn't care if she wanted out, because he was still going to keep her.

Didn't it matter what she wanted?

Three years and no ring, no proposal, no talk of forever together. Arthur lived in the moment, since often enough it could be his last. That had been exciting at first, but now…

Now she was at a crossroads:

She could walk away from him and this life before it was too late to go back to her family, to live on the right side of the law, to have a family of her own. Doing that would be retrieving the very last wisps of her old self before they were lost forever.

Or she could stay with the man she loved, give up her chances of the other kind of life. She could make a final sacrifice in the name of love, her love, for Arthur.

She didn't want to leave him, so it was as if her choice was made. But it wasn't that easy. She couldn't stay if he didn't care what she wanted. How could she love a man who thought he owned her? A man who was so selfish he expected her to give everything up but made no offerings in return?

She knew what she had to do. Like falling in love with him had been, she didn't have a choice in the matter. She had to abandon her timid ways and get ready for the fight.

She had to tell him how she felt—she felt like he had taken control of her life and turned it into everything _he_ wanted it to be with no regards to what she ever wanted. Like King Minus and his golden touch, he had taken her and turned her into his treasure even if it meant taking her life from her. He'd killed her without asking.

Somehow she had to make her rabbit heart into a lion one—fierce and ready for anything…

The fight, as she knew it would be, was a horrifically painful one. He did not understand how she could not say something about how she felt sooner. She tried to explain about how much he had changed her and yet he was the same as when they met, he'd changed nothing about himself for her.

He did not understand how she could believe he _hadn't_ changed everything for her. He would give anything—_everything_—to her if he could, but he couldn't. Some things could not be changed: he could not make his many warrants disappear. He could not make all the prices on his head, dead or alive, go away. This was his life and he pulled her into it because that was all he had to give.

"Is that not enough for you?" he demanded.

"Of course it is, but you haven't asked me if I _want _this life!"

If he was prone to touching his hair—which he wasn't because of the product in it—he would have ripped out handfuls just now. Instead, his hands went to his ears, then became fists which he slammed into the table. His shout reverberated in the apartment. "Because you've always said you didn't mind! You always said none of it mattered so long as you were with me!"

"But you never _offered_ to give me more!" she screamed back.

"What does that _mean_?"

"Did it never occur to you that I might want something after three years? That I might would like to talk to you about the possibilities of how we will spend our _lives_ together?"

His anger broke, and shock smoothed his features out in the way that only profound surprise could do. He came around the table, caught her in his arms.

"You want to marry me." It was a statement not a question. She laughed bitterly, shoved him away, "Of course I do, Arthur! But I wanted you to ask me, to _ask _me, not to just _assume_ I'll be here forever, always _giving_ and with no assurance that—"

"You know how much I love you, Ari."

"I know how much you _want me to yourself_," she replied. He looked hurt.

"I don't want to leave you." She continued, choking as she said his name while tears slid out of her eyes, "Arthur, I'm saying that I can give _the rest of my life_ to you, but not if you are just going to assume that it's already yours! You have turned me into someone else! You have taken everything in my life and changed it! I'm living _your_ life, not my own and you never _asked_!"

This time when he put his arms around her, she didn't have the strength to pull away. He was sorry, so sorry. He would let her go—she deserved better, someone who had more to give, someone who—

"Arthur!" she cut in incredulously. "I said I don't want to leave you!"

His eyebrows were low over dark and troubled eyes. "You said you want to live your own life."

"No I didn't!" she sighed, exasperated, "I just pointed out that I'm living yours."

"But—"

"I _can_ live yours, Arthur," she cut in, pressing fingers over his lips. Reflexively, his puckered them and kissed her fingertips as she continued, "I know you don't have a choice to live any other way and that's what I'm trying to tell you. I _can_ live your life, sacrifice having my own, for _you_."

His breathe left him audibly passed her fingers and she continued. Seeing him as a blur through her tears, she laughed, "I just want you to _ask_."

His arms went around her, held her tightly and he kissed her deeply. He broke it and laughed, dimples showing up as his eyebrows swooped low sheepishly. "It feels foolish to ask you after all of that."

She was on her toes, hanging from around his neck. She laughed, "But…?" she prompted.

"But _now _we both know what you're going to say," he said instead of the question she was looking for. He closed his eyes and shook his head, "You wanted to be surprised, wanted to be able to make me sweat about what answer you'll give, and now you can't—I really messed this up."

"Yet somehow I still want you," she said with a teasing quirk in the corner of her mouth. It drew a smile from him. She waited patiently—prepared herself to wait just like this all night if she had to—for him to ask her what she wanted to hear.

He sighed, sensing her resolve to wait it out. He put his forehead on hers and breathed her name in a way that shot tingles into the arches of her feet.

"Will you please marry me?" he asked.

She took a moment to look into his eyes, to see the question in there, before answering with a shrug, "Okay."


End file.
